Part 34

"No," cried the owl. "Do not speak to me again. I would not have such a sooty friend as you!" and she flew far away.

Adapted from Ethnological Bureau Report.

THE OWL

When icicles hang by the wall, And Dick the shepherd blows his nail, And Tom bears logs into the hall, And milk comes frozen home in pail; When blood is nipped and ways be foul, Then nightly sings the staring owl, "Tu-who! Tu-whit! tu-who!" a merry note, While greasy Jean doth clean the pot.

--"Love's Labour's Lost," Shakespeare.

ALL ABOUT THE BARRED OR HOOT OWL

SUGGESTIONS FOR FIELD LESSONS

Notes--deep-toned, startling hoot.

Heard most frequently at nesting time.

Upper parts brown, marked with white--face gray, mottled with black, wings and tail barred with brown, eyes blue black, bill yellow, under parts buff marked with darker, legs and feet feathered, bill and claws dark, hooked, strong.

Feeds on chicken, mice, etc.

Usually take an old crow's or woodpecker's nest for their own use--rarely make nests for themselves. Nest very early in the season, young being sometimes ready to fly early in March.

THE BOBOLINK

A SUMMER SONG

He sat upon the tallest bending grass stalk. He paid not the slightest attention to Phyllis. He just swung lightly with the June breezes, and sang his little heart out.

Such a careless, joyous, jingling song Phyllis had never before heard. It seemed just a bubbling-over of happiness and gladness.

And such a common-looking little fellow to have such a wonderful voice! He was but a little larger than a sparrow.

His plumage was mostly black. His wings and tail were edged with pale yellow, and there were splashes of white in places on his body. There was a light yellow spot on the back of his neck.

"You seem filled with gladness," said Phyllis.

The little bird stared at her for a moment. Then he nodded his head, and quivered his small wings. He opened his mouth again and warbled out the jolliest, sweetest tune that bird throat ever sang.

"How very beautiful!" cried Phyllis. "What a world of happiness you send out in that song!"

"Ah, but I should be happy," warbled the sweet-voiced bobolink. "I have all that bird heart can wish!"

"Tell me--" said Phyllis.

"I at last have won my wife," sang the bobolink. "At this very moment, in this very field, she is sitting on a nestful of light blue eggs."

"Listen, Phyllis, and I will tell you all about it.

"It was about the middle of May when my brothers and I started north. All winter long we had wandered through the rice-fields of the South.

"We were not happy there. We feared for our lives. There we are not called bobolinks and the people of the South never listen for our songs.

"In fact we seldom sing when we are in the South. The hunters call us 'rice-birds' or 'reed-birds.' With their terrible guns they hunt us early and late.